


Centripetal Force

by pawsoffurie



Category: Captain America (Movies), Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2015-02-10
Packaged: 2018-03-04 11:35:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3066398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pawsoffurie/pseuds/pawsoffurie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry's life has never been what one might call normal, and he learned years ago to stop being surprised by the directions it took. So when he discovers that he's been thrust unwillingly into the heart of a plot to take over the universe, his natural reaction is to decide it's a good time to ask Captain America out on a date.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This story, while sticking to the major themes and concepts of both the Marvel Cinematic Universe and the Harry Potter world, follows a unique timeline and series of events. The ages of all characters will be as close to canon as possible, but many experiences and encounters that are considered canon have been altered.
> 
> **Disclaimer:** I own no rights to either Harry Potter or the Marvel Cinematic Universe, and make no money on this story.

The night Harry James Potter was born was much like any other summer’s night in England. The sun had set mere minutes before, still leaving behind a rich purple shade in the sky that was rapidly melting into a blue so dark it seemed black. A cool breeze had descended, washing away the heat of the day, bringing relief to those who had been out in the unseasonably warm weather. And despite the time of day, the city of London was still bustling with activity as people rushed from one end of town to the other.

Despite being a few dozen miles away in Godric’s Hollow, Lily and James Potter were no different. For months now they had been anxiously awaiting the arrival of their first child, and now that the time had come, a panic had descended. One was rushing around the house seemingly doing no more than pulling out their own hair under the guise of getting a bag together while the other watched on with an amused smile on their lips and their hands cradling their extended stomach.

“Love, we put together a baby bag two months ago,” came the chuckling voice of the calmer of the two parents. “And it’s been in the same place ever since.” A head gesture indicated that what the speaker said was true; a soft pastel blue diaper bag full to bursting with clothes, nappies, blankets and stuffed toys was hanging off the door handle of the front door. With a half-sheepish, half-manic grin, the hair pulling came to an end, and James finally moved to help Lily into her overcoat.

“I can manage just fine,” Lily said as she waved her husband away. “You just worry about yourself.”

James’ only reply was a single raised eyebrow.

“And the baby, of course,” his wife answered with a soft smile before she leaned in to brush a kiss across his cheek. “I give you permission to worry about the baby, as well.”

Moments later the small family were bundled up and ready to leave their cottage home when James suddenly reached out a hand to grab Lily’s arm. “How about a glamour?” he asked quietly, knowing that his partner would know why he was making the suggestion. It would have been so much simpler if they could have used either a port key or the floo network to get to St. Mungo’s, but travelling by anything other than apparition and muggle means had been banned once the third trimester set in; and since neither James nor Lily were keen on potentially splinching their newborn before he had even been brought into the world, they were going to have to take a taxi into the heart of London where anyone would be able to see that they were expecting. It wasn’t ideal, but during an age were secrets were often what made the difference between life and death, a glamour would go a long way. “You were always better at them than I,” James admitted with a small shake of his head.

That comment brought a surprised laugh from Lily; her eyes had momentarily saddened at the reminder that while they were in the process of bringing life into the world so many others had recently suffered loss, but her husband’s remark made her lips turn up until the dimple on her left cheek was visible. “Don’t worry,” she replied, her amusement coloring her tone. “I promise I won’t tell anyone that there’s actually something the great James Potter is pants at.”

Said wizard just stuck his tongue out in response, firmly not thinking about the last time he had tried to alter his physical appearance with magic. The bushy eyebrows had looked more like caterpillars than anything else, and unfortunately moved like them across his body, as well. But that was neither here nor there, because Lily had been sworn to secrecy, and he wasn’t thinking about it.

With a quick couple of flicks of her wand, and her lips pressed firmly together to contain her mirth at the memory of just where, exactly, those eyebrows had ended up hiding, James and Lily Potter were no more. In their place stood a rather frumpy looking pregnant woman with short, dirty blonde hair and slim, stylish glasses, and a tall and wire thin balding gentleman. “They won’t hold forever, so try not to jostle about too much,” Lily warned as she slipped her wand back up her sleeve, “but they should make it to the hospital.”

With a nod to show he understood, James slipped his arm around Lily’s waist, allowing her to do the same. “It’s time then,” he said, smile over taking his face. “Let’s go meet our son.”

* * *

“Sirius, if you don’t sit down _this instant_ I’m going to stun you to keep you still,” Remus’ usually calm tone carrying enough bite to successfully break through the pacing man’s mental tirade. 

“Right. Sorry,” the black haired man replied, not bothering to even look up as he forced himself into the nearest plastic chair. It was but moments later that his right foot started tapping impatiently on the tiled floor, altering the entire waiting room that his nerves weren’t going to abate any time soon, despite having sat down. With a fondly exasperated sigh, Remus put down the paper he had been attempting to read and crossed the aisle to place himself in the seat next to his long-time friend, his arm coming up to wrap around the other’s shoulders.

“You need to calm down, Sirius,” he murmured, rubbing the upper back of the stressed man. “Everything is going to be fine.” A quick glance to the watch on his free wrist, he added, “it’s only been six hours since they were wheeled back to the operating room. You remember what the healer said: the contractions were still a fair bit apart. It could take up to another four hours before anything happens.”

Shoulders drooping, Sirius brought his hands up to vigorously rub at his face before resting his elbows on his knees, thankfully stilling his foot in the process. “I know,” he mumbled, finally turning to look at the other man, his voice beginning to raise with his agitation. “I just feel so helpless. I wish there was something we could do; or if we’re forced to stay out of it then we should at least be able to _see_ Lily and James! To let them know we’re there if they need us! We’re family, damn it, and they kicked us out! ‘Under foot’ my arse! What do they think, that we’re going to stand in between the spread legs and try to dig the baby out ourselves? We’re not fucking idiots, Remus!”

At the sound of an indignant squawk coming from the other side of the waiting room, Remus sent an apologetic smile to the elderly woman who made the noise, taking note that she had moved to cover the ears of a young child sitting next to her, before he tried once more to calm down his friend.

“Why don’t we go get some tea?” the amber eyed man offered, giving Sirius’ shoulder another squeeze. “I could go for a cuppa, myself.”

Slumping in what Remus assumed to be defeat, Sirius gave a slight nod of his head and allowed himself to be maneuvered out of his chair. Feat shuffling, and Remus’ arm still around his friend’s shoulders, offering support, the pair had barely made it halfway across the room before they heard a voice call out, halting them in their path.

“Potter family?”

A look of anxious joy mixed with heartbreaking worry crossed Sirius’ face, while Remus’ relief at being called was much more sedate, but no less obvious. “Right here!” Sirius shouted, paying no mind to a young man he all but shoved out of the way in his zeal to get to the healer who had just emerged through a swinging door. Bemused, the startled man waved off Remus’ attempts to straighten him, allowing the werewolf to join the conversation that was just starting between his friend and the woman he recognized as the healer James had told them was to be performing the surgery.

“Sirius, breathe,” Remus instructed quietly before he turned his focus onto the healer. “Healer Thomas, wasn’t it? How are they?”

“That’s correct. I’m sure you’re both very anxious for the news; I apologize for keeping you waiting. They’re both doing just fine,” she began, unable to help the soft smile that tugged at her lips when both men visibly sagged with relief. “There were some complications,” Healer Thomas continued, holding up her hand when it looked like the more excitable of the two were about to interrupt, “the umbilical cord was wrapped around the child’s neck at the time of the cesarean section, but we were able to remove it quickly. No permanent damage was done to either parent or child, and they are both now resting happily.” There was a long pause where neither Sirius nor Remus were able to react before Healer Thomas granted them with a warm smile. “Harry James Potter, eight pounds and two ounces, was born at 3:16 AM, perfectly healthy.” 

Moments later Healer Thomas found herself with an armful of Sirius Black, being hugged fiercely. “Thank you,” he breathed, squeezing the woman tightly. Startled, the healer sent an amused glance to Remus over the shoulder she suddenly found in her face. “You are most welcome,” she said, patting Sirius’ back. “Just doing my job.”

Slightly sheepish, Sirius extracted himself from the woman’s arms and took a deliberate step back, allowing her some room. “Sorry about that,” he offered with a quick quirk of his lips.

“Happens all the time,” was the understanding answer he received as the healer moved back to push open the door she had come in through. “Would you like to say hello? James was asking for you both.”

No one was surprised to see the beaming grin that overtook Sirius’ face, and Remus simply motioned for the healer to lead the way, his own smile splitting his face. A maze of corridors stretched before the small group, but it wasn’t too long before the men were ushered into a private room, the only sounds being the soft tinkling of monitoring charms overhead, and the chime of the secrecy wards they crossed over. “Lily? James?” Remus whispered once the healer had indicated that she had some other duties to attend to and he and Sirius were on their own. Rounding the short wall that separated the small entryway from the main room, Remus’ breath caught at the sight he found.

James was braced against a mound of pillows, legs stretched out in front of him, a small bundle wrapped in a thin, blue and white blanket against his chest. The sweat of exertion still lingered on his brow, and the hospital gown did little to cover the obvious scar, only recently healed, across his abdomen, bunched up the way it was. Lily was perched on the edge of the bed, one hand trailing soft finger tips across the forehead of the boy her husband was cuddling, and the other she used to wave her friends in closer.

Not a moment later and the two new arrivals answered the summons, rushing over to peer at the sleeping child. James tilted his son up with his elbow, pulling down the blanket to reveal a pink, squashed face, topped with a tuft of soft, black hair that was sticking up every which way.

For long moments no one spoke as the four adults drank in the sight of the newborn baby.

“I thought babies were meant to be cuter,” came Sirius’ succinct opinion, followed immediately by a sharp swat to his shoulder from Lily, and a sighing of his name from Remus.

“What?” he asked, genuinely confused. “All the babies I’ve ever seen are all rounded. Cherub-like, yeah? But he’s…” There was a short pause as Sirius searched for the appropriate word, only to settle on “wrinkly.”

“He’s a half hour old, Sirius,” was the exasperated reply from Lily. “If you spent nine months swimming around you’d be ‘wrinkly’ for a good bit after, too.”

“So does that mean you _don’t_ want to be his godfather?” asked James, amused, speaking for the first time since his friends had entered the room.

The silence that followed that question was punctured only by Sirius taking a half step backward in order to steady himself. He quickly turned wide eyes on the new father, and tilted his head in wonder as he studied the look on the other man’s face. Normally mischievous eyes regarded him with more seriousness than he had ever witnessed before, while still somehow managing to glint with pride and love for the small bundle in his arms, and his upturned lips spoke of the pleasure he was taking in having driven his best friend into stunned silence.

Unable to comprehend the trust that was being placed in him, Sirius turned to Lily, asking before he could stop himself, “you’re okay with this?”

Lily turned her gaze on the floundering man and smiled softly. “Of course I am, Sirius,” she replied, shaking her head gently before she pushed herself from her spot on the bed and wrapped one arm around him and the other around Remus, who had been observing the scene in silence. “You both are already family, this just formalizes it a bit.” After a brief but heartfelt hug, she pulled back with a laugh. “And so is Peter, even though he managed to sleep through the alarm we gave him.”

Remus chuckled quietly. “He’s going to be kicking himself tomorrow for missing this. He’s been talking about Harry’s birthday for months now. I owe him ten sickles, actually; I was convinced Harry would wait until August.”

“Well, at least with him not being here we don’t have to worry about glamours. And let me tell you, I’m not sorry to be done with them. Do you have any idea the funny looks you get when someone spots a man rubbing an invisible spot in front of his stomach?” James asked with a bark of laughter.

“Are you saying you preferred the times you went around dressed as a woman?” Sirius teased. “I learn new things about you every day, James.”

“You’re one to talk,” James retorted. “I seem to recall one of us spent a straight month in a dress and heels in our sixth year. Remind me who that was, again?”

“Don’t forget the garters,” Remus offered helpfully, snickering when he caught Sirius’ expression.

“Hey! That was a dare, that _you_ put me up to if I remember properly,” he answered, pointing at James accusingly, before a smug look overtook his face. “And those three inch heels it got me a date with Daisy Hookum, so I call it a win all around.”

“A date you never actually managed to go on because you spent the rest of the year in detention,” pointed out Lily.

“Why are we talking about this, again? Shouldn’t we be cooing over Harry? Or better yet, badmouthing Peter for not being here?” Sirius asked.

Allowing the subject change, Lily waved for her husband to hand over their son, hugging him tightly to her chest. “I think it’s a shame we couldn’t tell Peter the truth,” she said as she cuddled Harry. “I know he has a tendency to speak before thinking, but it feels like we’re saying we don’t trust him.”

“We’ll tell him the truth,” James insisted, collapsing back further into the pillows now that his arms were free. “It’ll just have to be after things clear up a bit. The guy lasted two days with the secret of Sirius’ birthday party last year.”

“He’s never mentioned Remus’ furry little problem,” Sirius pointed out, moving closer to Lily to take another look at Harry and take one of his tiny hands into his own. “I agree that the fewer people who know of Harry’s parentage the better, but Peter might be able to keep it to himself.”

“I’m with James on this one,” was Remus’ soft-spoken opinion. “I trust Peter with my life, but this isn’t about trust. This isn’t even about Harry and his father, really. This is about the world being at war, and the fact that knowledge can win or lose it. With each person a secret is told to, no matter what that secret might be, the risk of it becoming known to someone it shouldn’t rises exponentially.” Remus paused for a moment and turned his gaze to the floor before he continued. “There are ways of making even the most trustworthy of people talk.”

The occupants of the room let that comment fade away into the walls as they contemplated the dark times that were their reality. After the silence had stretched on for long minutes and began to grow too oppressive, Sirius forced a smile onto his face. “Enough of this. We can talk about the war later. Right now, I want to hold my godson.”

Appreciating the gesture, Lily moved to pass over Harry before his words sank in, and she turned to see James beaming. “Godson?” he asked.

“Of course,” Sirius replied, adopting a mock affronted attitude. “As if I would let anyone else do it! Harry’s going to need someone to run to when his parents are driving him barmy, and who better than I? I’ve spent years learning how to put up with you two, after all.” Taking Harry from Lily, Sirius’ face morphed into a genuine smile as he took in the ridiculously wrinkled sleeping form. “Besides, we’ll have to start early if the giant raisin here is going to become the next marauder. It’s never too soon to start pranking.” Sirius’ eyes took on a slightly dangerous glint, and he added, “I bet we can make good use of his dirty nappies. What do you say, Harry? Want to team up to take Snivellus down a peg or two?”

The foursome spent the next few minutes bickering fondly back and forth, and passing around the newborn, but it wasn’t long before James began yawning, the stress of the evening finally catching up to him. Once Sirius and Remus had taken their leave, promising to be back in the morning with smuggled goods to replace the hideous hospital food, Lily passed Harry back to his dad and snuggled up next to her husband on the bed.

“You did good, James,” she whispered, resting her head on his shoulder so she could continue to stare down at Harry.

A soft smile full of unconditional love took over James’ face, and despite the exhaustion that wracked his body he forced his eyes to stay open, wanting as much time to observe his son as possible. “He has my mother’s lips,” he whispered back, running a soft finger over said lips, laughing softly when Harry moved to suckle on the digit in his sleep.

“And your face,” Lily replied, content to observe.

“Thank you,” James said, turning his head suddenly to focus intense eyes on his wife.

“For saying he looks like you?” she questioned with a laugh.

James didn’t reply in kind, simply staring intently into Lily’s light green eyes, trying to convey through look alone the depth of his meaning. “For marrying me,” he finally answered. “For putting up with my morning sickness. For finding me Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans at two o’clock in the morning. For allowing me to cry on your shoulder after screaming your ear off. For giving up your life to help Harry and me.” James paused in his list to glance down at Harry and to brush his wisps of hair into some semblance of order, and then added softly, “for being Harry’s mother.”

Lily had to swallow a couple of times before she was able to speak, overcome as she was by the love that was pouring out of her husband. When James had come to her seven months ago, informing her he was pregnant and begging for her help, Lily hadn’t needed much time to decide upon a course of action. It had taken mere minutes for the plan to formulate in her mind, and even less time to realize that she was going to follow it through. She loved James, with all her heart, despite not being in love with the man, and she would do anything for him. She had planned to spend the rest of her life with him in one capacity or another; he was her best friend, and it mattered little that she had never intended to marry him. She loved him, and he needed someone to help him, and she was in a position to do so. In a matter of weeks they were married and their friends were told that Lily was expecting; only Sirius and Remus learning the truth.

She had yet to have reason to look back and wish for another path, and with James’ words she knew she never would. They were a family, no matter how they had come to be one, and Lily was so full of love for her husband and her son she failed to understand how it managed to stay contained within her. Surely her skin should be tearing at the seams with the effort to keep it in.

“I didn’t give up my life, James,” Lily managed to get out around the lump in her throat. When the black haired man turned to look at her once more, she moved to press a gentle kiss to his forehead. “My life simply took an unexpected detour,” she explained, pulling back with a smile. “And now that we’re here, I can’t imagine it having gone any differently.”

Instead of replying, James simply reached down and intertwined their fingers and pressed a kiss of his own to the back of her hand. He opened his mouth to speak, only to be overtaken by another yawn, which turned into a laugh that broke tenderly serious atmosphere. Finally agreeing to put Harry in his own cot, James handed him over to Lily with one last kiss to his son’s cheek. 

A handful of short minutes later, the small family were settled down to sleep, James and Lily curled up together in the too small bed. James’ last thought before he drifted off was that he wished Harry’s father were there.

_‘Loki would have loved you, Harry,’_ he thought as darkness came to greet him. _‘I’ll tell you about him some day.’_


	2. Chapter One

Despite what most Asgardians like to tell themselves, they are not, in fact, immortal. Loki has never been able to understand how a population who loses a majority of their people to old age – at least during the reign of the All-Father Odin, who was currently ruling over the longest stretch of peace the nine realms had seen in generations – could possibly delude themselves into thinking that death wasn’t waiting for them. That said, he himself had been known to fall victim to not being aware of time, and the way it passes. As a being whose lifespan could potentially span over five millennia, the passing of a handful of years is a paltry amount. What is a couple of years in the grand scheme of things when there are thousands more to be had?

Unfortunately the same cannot be said of Midgardians; a fact Loki overlooked whilst he allowed life and all its pleasures to move time around him. A decade to a ‘mortal’ – a term he found to be incredibly ironic when used by the aforementioned Asgardians – could be the difference between youth and adulthood. Between loneliness and family. Or, in the case of James Potter, life and death.

Normally this would matter very little to Loki, as he wasn’t overly fond of Midgardians; in fact, he’d been known to spout off to anyone who would listen just how _boring_ the humans were. They had only a few decades to spend their life on anything interesting, and the majority of them wasted away doing things that neither appealed to them nor accomplished anything of real lasting value, all in the name of earning a living. By the time most of them ‘discovered who they were’ – whatever in the nine realms that was supposed to mean – and became anything more than blind sheep, they faded away, leaving the next generation to cycle through the same drab and worthless lifestyle.

It was an utter waste of his time to worry about their inconsequential existences when they held nothing of interest for him.

That being said, there is an exception to every rule, as Loki had been forced to find out the hard way centuries ago, and as far as Midgardians were concerned, James Potter was it. 

They had met on one of Loki’s incredibly infrequent visits to the realm of mortals – if he remembered properly, it had had something to do with escaping the wrath of Sif whose hair he had managed to remove completely from her head in the middle of the night, a feat he was still rather proud of – and it had been… something at first sight. Amusement? Bafflement? Meeting of kindred souls?

The first time Loki laid eyes upon James, the man was still very much a boy; a boy who was snickering as he hid behind a thick holly bush as a boy with a hooked nose, on the other side of the field, was dangling upside-down by his ankle, wearing nothing but a pair of bright, neon pink underwear.

The whole ordeal was childish and immature, and quite frankly the boy wasn’t being nearly as subtle as he should be to pull off a prank of any sort of scale without being caught, but the look in the boy’s hazel eyes was pure mischievous glee, and it spoke to him. It called to his inner trickster, to his very being, and if he were being perfectly honest he’d admit to seeing much of himself in the young boy. Not that Loki would ever acknowledge that he was once so rudimentary in his prank pulling; no, he was tricking both Thor and foreign dignitaries alike with the appropriate panache at the age of five, and if his mother said anything to the contrary she was not to be believed.

But the fact remained that the boy had _potential_ , and if Loki knew anything about Midgardians it was that it was only a matter of time before it would be stamped out of him and he, like the rest of his kin, would spend his pathetically short life miserable, amounting to nothing, and that beautiful glint in his eye would be snuffed out.

Perhaps Loki had been bored. Perhaps Thor’s impulsive behavior had rubbed off on him more than he had realized. Perhaps Loki saw even more of himself in James Potter than he was comfortable with, subconsciously remembering every instance Odin tried to curb Loki’s own mischievous side, and as such he didn’t want that to happen to the young lad. It mattered very little, in the end, for Loki ended up approaching the boy behind the bush, for whatever reason, and began his friendship with the only Midgardian to ever hold his interest.

It was refreshing, exhilarating even, to find an eager student, and Loki hardly noticed that he was spending more time on Midgard than back home. The passage of time was marked in pranks pulled as opposed to the number of suns set, with Loki growing more and more fond of the mortal as his student’s successes became more and more frequent. It never crossed Loki’s mind that James was growing older, even if only by a few years, and what that could mean. He didn’t realize after a couple of years that their lessons had evolved and morphed into the exchanging of their thoughts and feelings and what they wanted out of life.

He didn’t notice that ‘fond’ no longer covered his feelings for James.

At least not until James’ last night at Hogwarts, when Loki found himself pushed up against a tree in the Forbidden Forest with James’ tongue shoved down his throat.

Loki caught on pretty quickly after that.

For a short while it seemed that his life was utterly perfect. His days were filled with travelling with James all over Midgard, visiting places both remote and populated, taking ‘access restricted’ signs as a personal challenge, and his nights were spent in orgasmic bliss. 

But, of course, he’d fucked it up.

Looking back, he can privately admit that it was stupid. Of all the things for him and James to fight about it had been about something they both agreed upon, only Loki was too prideful to admit it. Odin had called his son back to Asgard for some meeting with the ruler of Vanaheim, and James wanted to go with him. Loki had refused, hardly even listening as James argued that if they were going to continue to spend their life together, then he deserved to meet his friends and family. Loki had retorted that he had yet to meet those considered important to James despite having been on the same realm as them for years – ignoring the fact that he didn’t particularly care about anyone other than James himself – and went on to point out that a handful of years’ worth of companionship hardly amounted to a lifelong commitment. Their words had escalated from there, only ending once James had called Loki a coward.

He would never forget the way those words had fallen from James’ lips. They weren’t yelled. They weren’t said maliciously. If anything they came out sounding defeated. Like the truth was something he had been guarding with his very soul and Loki had finally worn him down enough to expose it.

_“You’re a coward, Loki. You always have been. You’d rather spend your days in the shadows, playing at being happy, than step out and risk taking a chance.”_

Loki had left after that. He’d left and hadn’t looked back for ten years.

Because James was right; he _was_ a coward. And oh, how it _burned_ to admit that fact.

He had _wanted_ James to go back to Asgard with him. To meet Thor and see if he really did compare to the golden retriever the younger man had said he sounded like. To show him off to Odin and rub it into his old, wrinkled nose that there was someone who thought Loki was brilliant and that his antics were to be coveted as opposed to brushed off as foolish. To introduce him to Frigga because she would have adored the Midgardian wizard just as much as he, himself, did.

But all he could think about at the time was: how many centuries had he gone around spewing about the worthlessness of Midgardians? How many citizens of Asgard had something negative to say about Loki that might have gotten back to James? How long would it take before James started comparing Loki to his brother, and found the former wanting?

So he had left and lost track of time. First he had been incensed, refusing to acknowledge that James had said anything even remotely accurate. Than he had become positively livid, wondering how he had allowed a mere mortal to affect him in such a way. After that he had become apathetic, deciding that he had obviously been right about Midgardians all along, and the best way to deal with the last many years was to just pretend they had never existed. That didn’t last long, however. Every time he managed to get Volstagg to try to eat from a plate of boar legs that didn’t exist he thought of James. Whenever he looked in the mirror and noticed a distinct lack of impish sparkle in his eyes, he thought of James. Lying in bed at night unable to sleep, he thought of James. Thinking of James inevitably led to thinking about the last words they had exchanged, which led to months of soul searching before he was able to whisper to himself that James had been right. No matter the bile that rose in his throat at the thought, he was a coward, and in his cowardice he had left behind the only thing that had brightened his – usually dark – existence in over a millennia.

And now… now that he had finally realized that his own pride was his number one failing, now that he had managed to swallow said pride and return to beg for forgiveness… now, James was dead.

It hadn’t hit him at first, when he had appeared in front of the slab of stone with James’ name on it. He hadn’t known what it was at the time. After all, he had concentrated on James, on the spark of magic that Loki had long sense learned belonged to his lover, and as he had done hundreds of times before, he disappeared from his current location to show up by James’ side.

Except James wasn’t there. He wasn’t behind the odd stone, he wasn’t sitting under the tree in the corner, and he wasn’t under that cloak his father had passed on to him. The only sign of James Potter anywhere in those rows of stone was in name. 

It took a couple of times reading the slab before Loki understood. 

How was he to have known? On Asgard the dead were sent off in a boat that was set aflame, in order to allow the spirit of the deceased to join their ancestors in the space between the realms, allowing them to oversee all. But here was James, _in the ground_ , and had been there for nearly eight years if the dates were to be believed.

Loki lost it.

In a matter of moments every stone other than the one in front of him was split down the center as waves of pure, anguished magic pulsated out from Loki as if they were ripples in water. He shredded his hands as he grabbed broken bits of stone and hurled them at the tree, loathing that something grew in this place of death, letting out wordless yells with each throw. He dropped to his knees and started to rip handfuls of earth up as he tried to get to James, a distant part of his mind telling him that he needed to take him back to Asgard; that not only did he deserve to be sent away properly, but that he should be able to go to the only place Loki had denied him access to while he had lived.

And that’s when he felt it.

There was a feeling like that of a soft tickle coming from his magic that had been growing in intensity. It seemed to branch off to the left, far into the distance, but for each moment he concentrated on it he could clearly distinguish something intimate about it. It was both comforting and foreign. It was strange and unfamiliar and yet felt like coming home. I was both James and distinctly not James. It was as if someone had taken James’ magic and diluted it; it was faint, but it was there. And it was calling to him.

With hardly a second thought, Loki waved his hand and returned to ground under his feet to its former state, not bothering to waste time on the rest of the cemetery. He gave a parting look at the rock with James’ name before he allowed his magic to connect more fully to this last existing piece of his lover and disappeared from sight.

* * *

Harry was sitting on a bench outside the mall while his aunt and cousin were shopping inside. It was a couple of weeks before school was to start up again, and Petunia hadn’t been able to find anyone to take Harry for the day. Usually Ms. Figg was more than happy to keep him for a few hours, but she was currently busy nursing back to health one of her many cats, and Petunia’s backup babysitter was out of town for another week. So, stuck with the boy, she had been forced to take him with her and Dudley as they looked for school supplies. While she didn’t feel comfortable leaving the nine year old boy alone in her home, she wasn’t looking forward to dragging him around the stores either, and so had settled for dropping him off on the first available seat they had come to, with strict orders for him not to move until she and Dudley returned.

That had been a little over an hour and a half ago, and as per his instructions, Harry was still perched on the stone bench, legs crossed with his back against the brick building, a well-worn children’s chapter book spread open on his lap. All things considered, he was quite content, really. Sure his behind was beginning to grow a little sore from the uncomfortable seat, and he couldn’t honestly say he was enthralled in the story he was reading (having read it a number of times since he found it in Dudley’s trash bin a year ago), but all in all things could be much worse. He was outside in the warm sunshine instead of locked up in his cupboard – as he had been more than half convinced his aunt would have insisted upon once Ms. Figg hadn’t been able to watch him. He wasn’t having to spend the day pulling weeds in the backyard, or trying to make the kitchen floor shine enough to reflect his aunt’s pinched face. He didn’t have to look over his shoulder and keep an eye out for Piers Polkiss or any of his cousin’s other friends who enjoyed ‘Harry Hunting.’ 

No, Harry was left alone in relative peace, and he was relishing every moment of it.

At least, he had been, until a few minutes ago.

Harry couldn’t explain it, but something was making his skin prickle and crawl.

It felt like those times when he was writing answers to his classwork only to look up and find the teacher looking over his shoulder to check and see how he was doing. It felt like taking out the trash only to have the hair on the back of his neck stand up because the nosey woman three houses down was peering at him through the blinds. It felt like when Dudley would push himself to the floor and try to peek under the door into his cupboard to spy on him while he was being punished.

It felt like someone was watching him, but every time he looked up he couldn’t find anything.

Biting the edge of his thumb in a nervous habit his aunt was fond of trying to break him of – usually with a swat to his mouth to remove the offending digit – Harry glanced up once more to try to find the source of his unease. There was a small family approaching from the parking lot, a mother and father both holding the hands of a young girl who was skipping between them, an elderly gentleman who was mumbling to himself about the price of tennis shoes as he headed back to his car, and a group of teenagers who were smoking against the building further down from him. And none of them were even facing his direction.

Returning once more to his book, Harry didn’t notice the appearance of a man who seemed to materialize out of thin air, eyes boring straight into his face, shrouded as it was in messy hair.

* * *

Loki wasn’t sure how long he stared at the child on the bench, but it was certainly long minutes before he tilted his head to the side and actually began to process what it was he was seeing.

His first impression was that of James when he had been younger, though Loki was sure he’d never seen him quite this small.

And that was certainly the word for it. The boy, whoever he was, was small. Not just in size, and not just in age, but in presence. James Potter had been larger than life, even when he was younger, and yet this boy who wore his face was practically huddled in on himself, as if to make himself as inoffensive as possible. He had James’ wild dark locks, the same straight, Grecian nose, his long and tapered fingers, and absolutely none of his beautiful personally.

Reaching out once more with his magic to latch onto the strand that had brought him here, he wove incorporeal fingers around it, feeling and testing it. Wrapping one mental finger around the connection between him and the boy, he gave it a quick, sharp yank, and watched as the enigmatic boy jumped in his seat as if he had been jolted. A half-second later, the boy’s gaze shot unerringly up to land on Loki’s own, causing Loki’s breath to catch in his throat.

Where the boy’s face and limbs screamed James, the eyes that were looking back at him were the same deep, emerald green Loki had only ever before seen staring back at him from the mirror.

Eyes boring into one another, the answer to the mystery of the vein of magic slotted into place like a jigsaw puzzle. It was a piece of his own; his own and James’, mixed together and given life in this small boy.


	3. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to express my undying gratitude and love to the beautiful [Cherrypit8](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Cherrypit8/pseuds/Cherrypit8) for not only her incredible work in helping me make this legible, but for also going through the rather exhausting effort of putting up with me. You're wonderful dear ♥

Even after a year and a half, Asgard still stole Harry’s breath every time he opened his eyes. He didn’t think he’d ever grow accustomed to the shining golden city, the wide open spaces that somehow made up the interior of buildings, the sky which offered views of planets he hadn’t known existed, or the faces of a race previously unheard of who considered him not only one of them, but a part of the royal family. For a child who had spent the first years of his life being addressed as “boy” more often than not, it had taken him months before he had managed to force himself to respond to “Your Highness” with any sort of consistency. There were still days when he woke up convinced the last couple of years had been nothing more than an elaborate dream, only to be greeted by the sight of his four-poster bed and the gilded walls of his room.

But Harry would have traded all of it – the view of the rainbow bridge outside his bedroom window, the vast expanse of stars and worlds beyond it, the gold that seemingly covered every surface – for his old room in the cupboard under the stairs, as long as he was able to keep the family he had gained. The people he had met and come to love were worth more than any gem or weapon that could be found in Asgard’s treasury. They were the things he feared he had lost during those first dark moments of the early morning when he was afraid to open his eyes to the world around him.

For the first time in his life, he had friends, ranging in ages from children his own age (with whom he ran around the spacious gardens and explored the bustling marketplaces surrounding the palace), to Sif and the Warriors Three, the latter of whom had taken him under their wing and allowed him to follow them around during the day and sit in on their sparring sessions. He had a grandfather who, while admittedly intimidated him upon their first meetings, had quickly proven himself to be one of the warmest people Harry had ever met. Odin often allowed Harry to sit on his lap when they were in the privacy of the family wing, and was always available to tell a story or two about the history of the nine realms; stories that more often than not left Harry staring at him in wonder and amazement, trying to figure out how the people of Earth – _Midgard,_ he had to remind himself – could not know about the fantastical world they were a part of.

He also had a grandmother who was so full of love it seemed to pour out of her very person into the world around her. Frigga was always wrapping her arm around his shoulders as she guided him from one place to another, sharing tales about her children as they were growing up, and giving him suggestions for how to sweet-talk the chefs into making him biscuits. He had an uncle who seemed perfectly happy to do anything from carrying him around on his shoulders as if Harry were half his eleven years, to helping him braid his rapidly lengthening hair. It was impossible not to love Thor. In fact, it had taken mere minutes for him to endear himself to Harry since he was loud and boisterous in a way few people were, and he was very rarely in anything other than a joyful mood. Thor found pleasure in the smallest of things, and Harry adored trailing after him and observing him interacting with the world. Thor’s exuberant personality allowed Harry’s own more naturally reticent one to grow, and Harry wouldn’t have met half the people he had if it weren’t for his uncle’s encouraging smiles.

But most significantly, he had a _father_. 

Looking back, Harry’s first impression of Loki was anything but positive. In fact, Harry had done his utmost to avoid the strange man who had made a habit of showing up wherever Harry happened to be. After that first meeting in front of the mall (which was more an exchange of wary looks than anything else), Harry had seen him sitting on a park bench Harry was walking past. Then the next day, Harry had been mowing the lawn only to look up and see the strange man sitting in a tree in the backyard. It took a few more sightings before Harry mentioned the odd man to his aunt and uncle. Apparently being able to see a man that no one else could and saying that he’d been making appearances over the past several days was not something Vernon and Petunia appreciated – if the week-long lock-up in his room was any judge. 

If his aunt and uncle had thought only allowing Harry out of his room to use the bathroom would limit any potential sightings of the strange man, they had been sorely mistaken. It was only a matter of hours after having been shut in that the man appeared in the cupboard with him. It wasn’t until after Harry had finished having a very vocal panic attack (that no one outside his room seemed to hear) that the man finally spoke to him.

Over the following week and half the man – Loki, he said his name was – came and visited Harry and tried to make conversation, asking questions about what Harry liked to eat, how old he was, what did he liked to do in his spare time; seemingly inane questions that Harry couldn’t understand why he was being asked in the first place. Confused and wary, Harry maintained his silence. He was half convinced the Dursleys were right and he’d finally gone crazy. Loki was either a figment of his imagination, in which case talking and interacting with him would only clue in the rest of the world to his loss of sanity, or he was a real entity that was able to come and go as he pleased and make himself unable to be seen by anyone he so chose. If that were the case, Harry had a healthy amount of respect for what would happen to him in his aunt or uncle caught him speaking with a man he’d been told didn’t exist – enough to avoid it at all costs. Either situation would amount to the same thing, really, and Harry enjoyed what little freedom he had – the last thing he wanted was to be locked up in a white, padded room with only this odd man to interact with. His cupboard was bad enough.

It wasn’t until one night, when Harry was lying in bed trying to fall asleep, that the man managed to get a response from him. _“I knew your dad,”_ Loki had said, voice softer than Harry had heard before, and eyes staring so intently into his own that he was sure the man was able to see out the other side of his head.

That was all it took. 

Harry had shot up in bed and threw all of the caution he had been maintaining out the proverbial window and question after question poured from his lips, all the things he had wondered about his parents but had never been able to ask the Dursleys. It didn’t take long before Harry was answering questions in return, and it took even less time for him to ask how Loki was able to appear whenever he wanted.

Loki’s one word answer changed Harry’s entire life, in more ways than he’d ever be able to contemplate. 

_Magic._

For months, Loki and Harry met whenever the younger had any time alone, talking about everything from James Potter, to what sort of things Loki could do with magic, to what life with the Dursleys was like, and everything in between. When Loki told Harry that he was able to do magic as well, he was ecstatic and wanted to learn everything he could. When Loki told Harry that in a couple of years he’d be able to attend the same school that his father had attended, he had begged to go see it, eyes boggling when his gaze landed on the castle. When Loki told Harry that James had carried him for the nine months leading up to his birth and that Loki was his other parent, Harry had stared at him for long, silent minutes in hurt confusion and then demanded Loki leave. It took another couple of weeks before Loki was able to convince Harry that, with the aid of magic, it was possible for two men to have a child together, and only because Harry allowed himself to be taken to a bookstore in which they sold guides for prenatal care for the expecting wizard.

Three days later Harry was holding onto Loki as they used the bifrost to travel to Asgard, and Harry’s world was irrevocably altered.

Now, the morning September 1st, 1991 dawned, and Harry could be found staring up at the ceiling of his room as he debated with himself once more over the decision he had made regarding Hogwarts. 

Despite having been told about the school, and having seen it for himself, it still came as a surprise when Heimdall had reported a buildup of owls, and one half-giant, around the bifrost location Harry and Loki had travelled through a year and a half ago; Loki had been certain Harry’s acceptance letter would have arrived at Privet Drive even though he hadn’t lived there for eighteen months. A combination of exhilarated and terrified, Harry had agreed to travel back to Ashtead Common, the woodland they had used to leave Surrey, to read one of his letters, but he had wanted to wait until the giant had left. After hearing stories about the Frost Giants of Jotunheim and their vicious nature, Harry wasn’t keen on meeting any beings over seven feet tall any time in the near future – even if Odin insisted that not all giants were as cold and ruthless as the tales would have you believe. Harry chose to err on the side of caution, and may or may not have seriously considered asking Thor and Mjolnir to travel with him and Loki, just in case.

So it was that on Harry’s eleventh birthday he was back on Midgard with his father, surrounded by more owls than he’d ever seen before, and a stack of letters addressed to _Mr. H. Potter, Ashtead Common_ that reached his ankles when gathered in one place. Relieved of their burdens, the flock of owls let out screeches loud enough to cause Harry’s ears to ring before they set off to the north, leaving Harry and his father to open a couple of the letters to find the list of required materials and textbooks inside. The trip to Diagon Alley that followed was eye-opening for the younger of the pair, but Loki was unsurprised to find that it hadn’t changed much in the thirteen or so years since he had been there. 

Pulling himself out of the memory of that day, Harry rolled over onto his side to stare at his trunk, braced as it was against the far wall, which contained the books and school supplies that they had bought that day. He’d stayed up late into the night, even though the shopping trip and following surprise birthday party had drained much of his energy, reading over the assigned texts, and flipping through some of the books they had bought that hadn’t been on the list. He’d been eager to learn as much as possible about the world his dad had belonged to.

There was a broomstick lying across the top of the trunk. _“Your dad would never forgive me if I didn’t allow you the chance to learn how to fly the second you were able,”_ Loki had explained with a fond eye roll before he’d had to look away, a frown marring his face. That look was one Harry had grown accustomed to quickly, and it was one that caused a twinge of pain to stab through his heart. Harry couldn’t remember any time spent with his dad, so as far as his memories were concerned he’d never met him; the pain of having lost him dwelled in the realm of the abstract. He mourned his dad (and his mum, because even knowing that Lily Potter had nothing to do with his conception didn’t change the fact that he’d been raised to believe she was his mother, and he loved her as such), but it was more of a feeling of loss over what could have been rather than what had been taken away from him. It was a pain he’d had ten years to learn how to live with, but for Loki the loss was still fresh, and the look in his father’s eyes when he was reminded of James’ death was bittersweet. His father didn’t speak of his emotions often, in fact Harry couldn’t ever recall him saying the words “I love you,” but the desperate press of his lips against Harry’s forehead before he went to sleep at night, the way Loki’s eyes softened whenever his son smiled at him, and the tightening of his hand on Harry’s shoulder just before he allowed him to leave his side had taught Harry how to read the words in his actions. And Loki’s every action when the conversation touched on Harry’s dad screamed that he had loved James.

Studying the broom’s sleek lines and polished handle, Harry forced himself to focus once more, and mulled over the thoughts that had been plaguing him for weeks. The train to Hogwarts would be leaving in a few hours, and Harry was packed, ready to leave at a moment’s notice, but he was still torn as to whether he wanted to go. There was no denying that he yearned to attend the school his dad had, and he was curious to learn how magic with a wand differed from the few enchantments his father had taught him to control, but there was also the simple truth that Harry had no desire to leave his family behind. Sure Loki had pointed out that he had spent years in the school and on the grounds with his dad and no one had been any the wiser, he’d even offered to adopt the appearance of an animal and let Harry keep him as a “pet” for the months he was on Midgard, but that didn’t allow for the members of his family who didn’t have magic to visit. How would he last the four months before the winter break without Thor’s booming laugh and conspiratorial winks? Or without Odin’s affectionate and approving gaze when he shared what new lessons he’d learned from his tutor?

Frigga had pointed out that not only would Harry be able to return during the breaks and when school let out for the summer, but Hogwarts only lasted for seven years, and he would never have to step on Midgard again if he so chose; the fingers she was running through his hair at the time didn’t do anything to encourage him that leaving was the best choice.

When it came down to it, Harry was afraid. As excited as he was, there was a rather loud part of him that hadn’t abated in the two years since he’d first met Loki that insisted this was all too good to be true. It was the voice that told him not to open his eyes in the morning, and it whispered that going to Hogwarts may seem like a thrilling and potentially wonderful experience, but he’d be giving up his life on Asgard in exchange. He’d been secretly grateful to return home after that short trip back to the realm he’d started his life on because he’d been worried that Asgard would have changed while he’d been gone; or worse, it would no longer be there. What if he ended up loving it there? Would his father feel like he was choosing Midgard over Asgard, even if he was there with him? What if he _did_ like Earth more? How was he supposed to make friends if he had to lie about everything that was important about him? Would anyone believe him if he was forthcoming about his parentage? What if he wasn’t any good and they kicked him out? Wouldn’t it be better to just not go and save himself the trouble?

As if sensing his dilemma, there was a knock on his door before it opened softly to allow his father to slip into the room.

“If you laze around in bed for much longer you won’t be able to have breakfast before it’s time to go,” Loki said with a half-smile as he moved closer.

Harry let out a soft sigh and scooted his body up the bed to prop himself against the headboard. “I’m still not sure I want to go,” he admitted, averting his eyes when his father reached the bed and leaned against one of the columns at the foot. 

“You don’t have to,” Loki replied easily, crossing his arms as he studied his son. He paused for a moment before he continued carefully, “but I think you’ll regret it if you don’t.”

When Harry had managed to force himself to make eye contact once more, Loki’s lips quirked again before his expression turned suspiciously blank. “Don’t not go because you’re scared, Harry.” At the sight of the ashamed blush starting to overtake his son’s face, Loki continued, holding the eye contact despite every nerve in his body twitching to turn away. “The greatest regret of my life was being too afraid to take a chance on something I wanted because I was worried about all the things that could possibly go wrong. Turns out that not taking that risk cost me so much more than taking it ever could have.” He paused for a moment, swallowing around a lump that had formed at the admittance of such weakness, but he managed to add one more thought before his throat closed up. “Your dad was one of the bravest people I’ve met in all the nine realms, and while he wouldn’t care if you didn’t want to go to Hogwarts, he’d never want you to give in to fear. Besides,” he added, allowing the heavy tone from before to dissipate, “don’t you want to see the look on your professors’ faces when you can turn a pincushion into a teapot – or whatever absolutely droll facsimile of magic they request of you – with a wave of your hand as opposed to using that ridiculous wand?” Loki stared off into space for a heartbeat as he contemplated the ramifications of what he’d suggested. “Tell you what. You manage to give a heart attack to a teacher within the first week, and I’ll let you start hand to hand combat training with Hogun when you get back.”

Completely taken aback at not only the weight of the beginning of the conversation, but also at the turn it had taken, Harry felt the blush on his cheeks recede as he absorbed his father’s words. There was more to that story that he wasn’t being told, he was certain, but he’d seen his father close off due to emotion in the past and he knew there was no point in asking for more. He was surprised he’d been told as much as he had; Loki liked to pretend he was infallible, and words like regret and fear didn’t belong in his vocabulary, let alone apply to him. So Harry took what was being said to heart, and attempted to box up all the potential problems going to Hogwarts had brought up, as well as told that whispering voice to shove it.

Besides, he’d been begging to learn how to spar for months now. He’d be a moron not to jump on the opportunity that was being presented to him while he had the chance.

“Alright,” he finally responded, a wide smile taking over his face as he finally warmed up to the idea. “You have a deal.”


End file.
